Circumstances, thought Benito wryly as he hurried to catch up with the donkey, change your perspective. He'd never ever have thought he'd be glad to see the tail end of a donkey. The donkey was part of a string of seven, laden with gurgling, oil-sheen-gleaming ticklike skin-bottles. It was being led by a fellow who looked more than a little like a donkey himself. The oilman produced a thing that was somewhere between a knife and a sword, and well-supplied with rust.
"What do you want?" he demanded suspiciously. Benito repeated his story. It didn't seem to convince the oilman at all. "You stay behind me. I'm not having you tell bandits I'm coming."
"Saints! Look, any self-respecting bandit would kill you in about ten seconds. All I want is some information. And I'm not moving at less than donkey speed just to oblige you."
"Stay back or I'll make you into sliced salami!" The oil seller waved his knife about at Benito's nose.
"Look, I can pay." Benito pulled out what he'd thought was a copper. "I'm happy to pay . . ."
The oilman's eyes lit up. "Give it to me." He waved the knife at Benito.
Benito looked at his hand and realized he had silver, and not copper there. "I'll give you a copper penny for your help. I need this."
The oilman lunged. Benito used the stout stick he'd cut to hit the man's elbow. Hard. The clumsy knife went flying. Benito grabbed him. A nasty short scuffle ensued, ending with the oilman pinioned under Benito and shrieking: "Help! Bandits! Murder!"
Benito swatted the oilman's ear, reflecting as he did so that Erik had taught him very well even in such a short timespan. "Shut up. You tried to rob me, you idiot. Now get up and stop yowling. I dropped my silver penny because of you. If you don't find it for me I'll kick your ass through your teeth. Now get up."
"I can't. You're sitting on me."
Benito stood up. The oilman, on his knees, looked for the silver. Fortunately it was easy to find; nervously, the oilman handed it over.
"Pick up that cheese-cutter of yours." The oilman gaped at Benito but picked up his knife.
"Now—I need know where I can sleep tonight. And does this track lead back to the coast? I want to get to Reggio di Calabria."
The oilman bowed. "Your Honor, no one goes down to the coast. Well, only a few very poor fishermen. The Barbary Coast pirates raid it, and it is full of malaria. But this track joins another track which leads to Cantonia, maybe a mile away. There is road from there you can follow on to Reggio di Calabria."
"Right. Well, I think we go on together. Otherwise you'll come to this Cantonia place claiming I've robbed you."
The oilman did his best not to look as oily as his wares. "Your Honor, I would never do that! I'm an honest man."
"The sight of my only piece of silver seemed to change that," said Benito grimly.
They walked on at donkey pace. At length they came to the walled town. The oilman held out his hand. "Give me the copper you owe me for guiding you."
"Where are the two coppers you promised me for helping you with the donkeys?" demanded Benito very loudly, for the benefit of at least a dozen local residents. "Give it to me or I will swear out a charge against you with the podesta."
"I never promised you—"
"Yes, you did! Cheat! Thief!"
The oilman gaped. "But you—?"
Benito turned to the interested locals. "This man promised me money! I have worked and now he wants to cheat me!"
One of the women sniggered. "The podesta is in Montaforte. And if you can get money out of that old skinflint without a knife against his throat, you will have managed something no one else can do." She eyed Benito speculatively. "Though there is no knowing what a handsome man could do."
"Especially with you, Bella," said one of the onlookers. She snorted and flounced her hips for Benito's benefit.
Benito threw up his hands. "I'm a peaceful man. And I was coming this way anyway. Is there a taverna where I could buy a glass of wine to get the smell of donkeys out of my nostrils?"
"I can show you the taverna," said Bella archly.
Benito shook his head ruefully, looking at her swaying walk. Certain kinds of trouble you can get rid of. Others follow you around. He'd be leaving very, very early the next morning.
* * *
Predawn found him heading, very quietly, off down the trail for Reggio di Calabria. Evening found him there. As cities went it was a small one. After the back-country Benito found it busy, bustling, and comfortingly familiar.
* * *
"And so we came to Corfu." Maria took a sip of some of the finest wine she'd ever tasted. The white-haired Contessa Renate De Belmondo, wife of the Podesta of Corfu, smiled. She was one of those people who smiled to their eyes, and the fine creases in her skin bore testimony to the fact that she smiled often.
On the lace cloth between them, on a silver salver, lay some delicate almond biscotti. Maria marveled at them. Marveled at where she was. Marveled at the fact that she had just finished telling a Case Vecchie lady—a Case Vecchie Longi lady, born, bred and raised—more about her life than she'd ever told anyone.
There was something motherly about this woman. Maria's mother hadn't been "motherly." She'd been a working woman who'd done her best to look after her daughter, but she hadn't had any time to spare for cuddling and comforting. Their lives had been hard, Maria's as well as her mother's. Maria suspected that her mother had made the decision to ensure that her daughter learned early that life was hard, and would always be.
Francesca had helped and advised Maria, but she wouldn't choose the word "motherly" to describe her either. Maria smiled to herself. Francesca ferreted out information; she manipulated, charmed, sometimes lied through her teeth, but she showed no signs of being "motherly." But the contessa . . . got you to volunteer it. If Francesca could get her, as well as Stella, to provide information . . .
There would be very little in the entire confined world that was Corfu, great and small, that she couldn't find out. But somehow Maria knew that Renate De Belmondo was the perfect listener because she wouldn't ever tell anyone what she'd heard. Most people used conversation to talk about themselves. Renate De Belmondo volunteered little; she just listened.
The conversation shifted to babies. And here the contessa did offer something about herself. "My children were all born here on Corfu. I tried earlier in Venice, oh, I tried and I tried, but it was only here that I finally got pregnant." She smiled mysteriously. "It's a very fertile place, Corfu."
Chapter 50
From the shelter of the pines high up on the slope, Erik's small force watched and waited. Erik now had seventeen men. Some Venetian settlers, some locals with grudges, and Kari and his two brothers. They were about a mile and half south of the Citadel, above the oil-store that Emeric's men had taken over as their storage depot. The huge forty-eight-pound bombards took a lot of powder and it had to be stored somewhere a safe distance from the battlefront. There were some forty Serb pikemen doing guard-shifts and ten Croat light cavalry riding patrols.
The worst of Emeric's forces, Erik suspected. Probably a punishment duty for the Croats, as most of their comrades were still looting among properties that had not yet been picked over. The cavalry patrols consisted of going to a nearby village and sifting through the ruins for anything that even looked like loot, or sleeping. The guards at the gunpowder magazine looked unseasoned, and already looked bored. They were certainly lackadaisical about the patrols around their new palisade.